


i don't need to be forgiven

by sapphictomaz



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Magic, Angst, Humour, Magic, Multi, Sorcerers, yes i'm spelling it the canadian way
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-26
Updated: 2018-08-25
Packaged: 2019-06-16 10:19:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15434901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sapphictomaz/pseuds/sapphictomaz
Summary: [“...in another time, another life, he’d teleport right out front of the castle gates, but that option was just another thing stolen from him too soon. He really, really misses magic...”]or, murphy’s a sorcerer who’s only trying to save the life of the man he loves while simultaneously extracting revenge on the woman who destroyed his own - while, of course, rescuing the entire kingdom from demise, but he’s not too concerned about that last part.all titles from "baba o'riley" by the who.





	1. out here in the fields

**Author's Note:**

  * For [blueparacosm](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueparacosm/gifts), [trash king murphamy (blackmaggiecat)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackmaggiecat/gifts).



> hey so, i'd like to preface this by saying without stella & jen, this never would have been posted. they've both got incredible wips going on right now so PLEASE check them out and give them the love and support they deserve. 
> 
> this fic will be very murphamy/murphy centric, and i'm not entirely sure how long it's going to be yet. either way, there are lots of side relationships/characters and hopefully i keep this world i've built somewhat structured.

**i – murphy;**

Today, he’s lost his keys.

Murphy’s nomadic at heart, so this doesn’t upset him too much, but he knows why it’s happened. His shamble of a home means holds everything he’ll need for the journey. Without his keys, though…

He sighs, standing outside the door, cursing Raven under his breath. It’s been over a year since they both irreparably changed each other’s lives. And now, somewhere, she’s got his keys in a locked box that he’ll never find, and he has to use magic to get into his house and he knows by now how _that_ will turn out.

It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t –

He must get to the Prince.

With a wave of his hand and a murmured incantation from the old dead language, the door of his house slides open and in the same instant, the potted cactus by his doorstep _pops_ out of existence.

“The _plant_ ,” he says, mostly to himself as he steps inside. “That’s low, even for you, Raven.”

There’s nothing he can do about it, now, so he gets his bag ready and heads out the door once more. In another time, another life, he’d teleport right out front of the castle gates, but that option was just another thing stolen from him too soon.

He really, really misses magic.

Emori comes down the cobblestone road then, a bag of her own on her back. “Right on time,” Murphy comments. He can’t help the smile that reaches his face when he sees her. “Echo let you go after all, hm?”

“Oh, please,” she says, lightly shoving him down the path. “I’m doing this to help my friend. She understands that.”

“Does she?”

“ _Yes,_ because she actually _has_ friends.”

“You’re my friend.”

“Okay – she actually has _multiple_ friends.”

Murphy doesn’t have a clever reply, because though it doesn’t upset him too much, she’s right. “Well,” he says, “thank you.”

“Of course, John.” She looks up at him and smiles a genuine smile that only someone like Emori could do.

An enigma – it’s the only description of Emori that truly encapsulates all of her. He will never understand how she is who she is. The mutation on her hand, the one that either struck fear or wonder in all that saw it, scarred her from birth. She had a tough time of things – most assumed that the mutation gave her magic. While possible, that would be extremely rare.

Still, when they’d met after –

no –

best not to get into that.  

What Murphy’s trying to say is that he doesn’t understand how she can be so happy all of the time.

“Besides,” she says, already far up the path, “you don’t have a choice.”

“I do!”

“Uh-huh. That _might_ be true if you’d listened to me half a year ago, when you still had your–”

“I know.”

“But _someone_ had to be so stubborn that they decided to _run away_.”

“I know, Emori.”

“And _now_ –”

“Emori, _please_.” He takes quick strides, passing her on the path. It’s audible how much her face darkens. Effortlessly, she matches his pace.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have started down that road.” She places her mutated hand on Murphy’s shoulder, a sign of solidarity he can’t ignore.

His soft smile indicates a ‘ _don’t worry about it_ ’ and on they continue.

**ii – bellamy;**

One of these days, he’s going to lose his mind.

“It’s a _proper ceremony_. You have to look the part.”

“I’m the Prince of Arkadia West,” Bellamy says, so cavalier everyone knows it’s intentional. “I don’t _have_ to do anything.”

It’s a flimsy attempt at a confident charade, it really is, and Atom isn’t fooled.

“Oh, shut up, Bellamy,” Atom says, laying the suit out flat on his bed. “If you don’t wear this, the King will have my head, so do it for me.”

Unfortunately, this is probably true.

“Yeah, yeah, okay,” Bellamy says, grumbling all the way. The suit is nice, he’ll admit that, fresh off the rack. But the thought of being trapped in the fabric for five hours during yet another ceremonial dinner held by his father? Involuntarily, he shudders.

“I knew you’d come around,” Atom hums. He smooths the suit once more before turning around, allowing Bellamy the most privacy he can.

Like always, it doesn’t last. The door opens without a knock just as he’s taken off his shirt.

“Miss Octavia!” Atom says. Instinctively, he shrinks underneath her cold gaze. “Can I help you with something?”

Octavia may be Bellamy’s little sister, but to anyone else she would seem older. Already dressed in her plain ceremonial gown, she’s elegant and graceful, yet tall and powerful.

She would be a much better ruler than he’d ever be.

Her eyes rest on Atom for several seconds. Bellamy thinks, maybe, she enjoys making the servants squeamish. Slowly, her gaze turns to Bellamy, her mouth tightening in displeasure. “You have to be ready in five minutes,” she says, pausing, then turning and leaving. She doesn’t close the door.

“Wow,” Atom says, breathless once she’s gone. “She surprises me every time.”

Bellamy nods, joining him in a sigh, but his is full of guilt. “Me, too.”

After all, there can be only one heir to the throne.

Later, he’ll stand outside the court doors, just behind his father, Marcus Kane. Octavia will be just behind him to the left. It’s mandated that she walks one step behind him. Rules, in his opinion, are meaningless, but it’s also mandated that he can never tell her that.

_“The court welcomes Prince Bellamy Blake Kane, son of King Marcus Kane, and heir to the throne of Arkadia West. Accompanying him is his sister.”_

Some court official booms off this introduction from inside. As Bellamy steps forwards and pushes the doors to the throne room open, he hears Octavia scoff behind him. “Didn’t even give me a name this time,” she sighs.

He feels bad, really, he does.

But still he walks forwards, politely waving to the applauding crowd, stepping over roses thrown at his feet. Someone faints when he smiles at them. It’s trivial.

He takes his spot at the head of the table next to his father as Octavia takes her spot at the end of the table. It’s not fair that she, while royal, while holding the technical title of “princess,” earns no privilege in the court. The best she can hope for is to marry someone she loves, and not just another rich nobleman.

He _does_ feel bad, but what power does he have?

“Thank you all for joining us today!” Kane calls, standing at the base of his throne. The room is as large as a football field, and it is packed. “Today, we mark the last thirty days of my rule.”

On cue, the crowd boos. Kane simply raises a hand and the noises are silenced.

“But thirty days from now,” he continues, “my son, Bellamy, will rise and complete his destiny by becoming your new King of Arkadia West!”

The crowd cheers. Idly, Bellamy wonders if they really are reacting on cue.

“We will do our best to ensure the transition is as swift as it can possible be. I ask only for your understanding through the next month, as the court works to pass tasks on to the next generation.” Kane pauses, staring down at the crowd his subjects. “I know that Bellamy’s rule will be kind, fair, and just.”

_Will it be?_

Bellamy’s eyes drift towards the servant’s table, tucked in the corner of the room. Atom’s fiery green eyes meet his. Yes, he knows that Atom’s his servant, but he’s the only true friend Bellamy’s ever had and –

He focuses once more only when Kane stops talking. A court member has approached him and is whispering something in his ear, so quietly that Bellamy can’t make it out, but he can tell it’s bad from Kane’s frown.

His father nods slightly, dismissing the court member, before plastering on a fake smile and gesturing for the crowd to eat. “No more speeches!” he cries. “Enjoy your feast!”

Their business, though, is far from done. “Follow me,” his father says quietly to Bellamy. Together, they slip out of the room.

A guard leads them down the hall and to the front of the palace. Just before they turn the corner to reach the gates, his father holds out a hand and they both stop. “Remember the law,” he says, the fire in his eyes burning bright.

“Of course,” Bellamy says, because, of course.

A pause, then a nod from his father, and he follows him around the corner only to lay eyes on the most beautiful and most terrifying sight he’s ever seen.

“So good to see you,” Jonathan Murphy says, and Bellamy wishes he could be anywhere else in the world but there.   
  
    **iii – clarke;**

Dinner that night is, as per usual, uneventful.

Seated at one end of a ridiculously long table, Clarke is able to cast an eye over the entire dinner party - which consists solely of her fiancé, her mother, and herself.

“This dinner is lovely,” Wells says. He’s always had an ability to draw all the attention of a room with a simple phrase. She admires that in him, she really does, even though -

“It is adequately prepared,” her mother, fires back, placid as ever.

“Mom, I’d say it’s more than adequate.”

“Yes, I suppose you would say that.”

Across the table, Wells nervously swallows. It’s possible that he hates these weekly dinners even more than she does.

Silence strikes the table once more. Content with this, Clarke continues to eat in silence, the engagement finger on her ring weighing down her hand. It’s been weeks since the announcement, but she hasn’t gotten used to the weight of the massive, sparkling stone.

“In thirty days, Arkadia West will be under new leadership,” her mother says. “Wells, what are your thoughts?”

 _Typical,_ _she asks him first,_ Clarke thinks, but doesn’t say.

“King Kane has been a tough, but just ruler,” Wells replies carefully. He rests his fork neatly on the side of his plate, then puts his hands on the table but keeps his wrists off. Everything about him is perfect, perfect, perfect. “I believe that his son will lead a similar rule.”

Her mother nods slowly. “It is favourable for us that they are choosing the succession based on direct lineage - however, it is pertinent to remember that Prince Bellamy is not the King’s real son.”

Clarke can’t help but scoff. “He may be adopted, but he’s grown up with King Kane for his entire life. I don’t think genetic lineage matters in this case.”

Unlike with Wells, her mother doesn’t meet Clarke’s gaze, choosing to look down instead. “I believe in this case, you are mistaken.”

“Oh?”

“The people of Arkadia West are barbaric,” she continues. “The rulers are similar, but at least the Kane family held some form of poise and grace. The Prince, however, is a product of the common person’s wild habits. He does not have the character a ruler _should_ have.”

“I don’t-”

“Despite this, it will be easier for us,” she says. It’s probable her mother didn’t realize Clarke had spoken at all. “As King, Bellamy will be easier to control and manipulate than his father.”

Clarke can’t help herself. “Is that really the viewpoint a ruler should have, Mom?”

Her mother’s lips tighten, but she turns to Wells instead. “Your wedding is in a month, as well. Will you be ready?”

Wells nods. “The preparations have been made.”

“Good.”

Without another word, her mother rises and leaves the room. She doesn’t close the door behind her.

“I guess that’s our cue to leave, too,” Clarke sighs. “It was good to see you, Wells.”

“You, too, Clarke,” he says, walking to her side. “I hope you know that...just...everything I say, to your mother, it’s…”

“Wow,” Clarke says, laughing. “The great Wells Jaha, at a loss for words?”

A slight blush colours his cheeks. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up.”

Together, they begin to walk out the kitchen door and towards the stairs, where they will part ways. Clarke will head upwards to the top floor of the palace to her quarters, and Wells will head down to one of the lower floors, where visiting noble families slept.

“What are you trying to say?” Clarke asks as they reach the landing of the stairs.

“I mean everything I say about you.” His words are quick, and fast, as if he’s worried he’ll forget them or they’ll lose meaning if he takes too long. “I really do care about you, Clarke.”

_Yeah, right._

“Oh, Wells,” she sighs. “You don’t have to do this.”

“Do what?”

“Pretend like this,” she says, waving a hand dismissively. “Yes, we’ve been friends for years, so of _course_ I care about you, too. But this marriage? It’s not something either of us want.”

For a moment, his eyes fall and his shoulders drop, and she thinks _maybe it is something he wants_ , but in instant later his smile is back and he looks like the same old Wells she’s always known. “Right,” he says.

“I mean...I’m a Princess, you’re the son of a rich nobleman and councillor...we’ve known this arrangement was coming between our parents for a long time, so…”

“Yeah, yeah, right. Was good to see you, Clarke. Goodnight.”

Hastily, he leaves, but not without kissing her hand and giving a proper bow, because he’s a gentleman and everything about him is perfect, perfect, perfect.

 

**iv - raven;**

She’s lucky she’s a sorceress - otherwise, Raven would be getting pretty uncomfortable stuffed into the Princess’ armoire.

It’s not her first choice of hiding place. Knowing that Clarke would be back soon, she’d taken place on the massive bed, her figure mostly hidden behind the canopy but her face in full view to maybe give Clarke a teasing wink or two, letting her know there was more to come -

Instead, the cleaning staff decided to visit off schedule, so Raven magically grew the armoire just large enough and stepped inside.

She’s lucky she’s a sorceress, except that she isn’t at all.

Her leg, bent at an awkward angle for too long, threatens to give out under her. The wrecked nerves pulse angrily, sending waves of agony throughout her entire body. Still, she does not make a sound, instead increasing her grip on the side of the armoire to avoid falling. The maid is still in the room.

Just as Raven thinks it’s a lost cause to keep trying, she hears the door open and footsteps enter. Clarke’s voice has never sounded so sweet. “Oh, I wasn’t expecting anyone in here. I apologize for interrupting your work.” Always civil, always cordial.

“It is I who must apologize,” the maid replies in a low voice. “I did not look at the schedule. I shall vacate at once.”

“Thank you.”

_Hurry up, hurry up, hurry up…_

Finally, it’s silence, and Raven risks three quick knocks on the armoire wall. Almost instantly, the door is opened. “I thought she’d never leave,” Raven sighs, bracing herself on the armoire as she slowly swings her good leg onto the floor.

Nervously, Clarke bites her lip. “Can you get out okay?”

“Yeah, I-”

The second she tries to lift her left leg, the whole appendage buckles at the knee and she’s falling right into Clarke’s arms. Behind her, the armoire interior shrinks back to normal size now that her focus on the magic has shattered.

They’ve done this before, so the pair navigate to the bed rather easily. “This is _so_ not how I wanted this evening to go,” Raven sighs once they’re laying next to each other on the bed. Clarke’s found some extra pillows to place under Raven’s bad leg and has locked the door.

“Oh? You had something different in mind?”

“Well, look who’s flirtatious!”

“Please, I’m not proper all the time.”

“ _Proper_ flirtatious.”

Clarke playfully hits Raven’s arm. “That was bad, even for you.”

“Yeah, yeah, maybe,” she says softly, closing her eyes to push out the painful feeling in her leg. _Goddamn curses…_

“I had an interesting conversation with Wells after dinner,” Clarke says after a long period of silence.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. It turns out that he has actual feelings for me. Can you believe that? This marriage, it’s...it’s what he actually wants.”

Raven’s eyes narrow involuntarily. She’s always known this, of course, but it still hurts to hear. “That’s unfortunate for him, then.” If Clarke notices the way Raven’s body tenses, she doesn’t say anything.

Shifting her weight, Clarke turns to her side and looks right at Raven. “You know you’ll always have my heart, right?”

Softly, Raven smiles. “I better.”

In another life, Raven would have proposed to Clarke years ago and instead of Clarke being trapped in a sham of an arranged marriage, they’d be getting married in a month, and magic wouldn’t be outlawed in Arkadia East and Raven would be able to come out of hiding but -

Clarke kisses her deeply. For a moment, Raven’s able to escape reality, but then her leg twitches and she’s pulled back to the ground.

In another life, she wouldn’t be living with a cursed wound, but she’s only got _goddamn_ Jonathan Murphy to thank for that one.


	2. i fight for my meals

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a bit shorter than i originally wanted, but i thought maybe splitting it up would make for easier reading.

**v - murphy;**

Upon reaching the giant, pearly gates in front of Arkadia West’s palace, Murphy and Emori were immediately stopped by guards and ordered to turn around. Which, to be fair, is what Murphy was pretty sure was going to happen anyways.

Instinctively, Emori slides the glove on her left hand down further. She knows to do this only because her mutation has gotten her in trouble too many times before. In a land where magic is looked down upon, mutations such as hers were assumed to be magical in nature - as a result, most commoners assumed Emori to be a sorceress, though she’d never cast a spell in her life.

Murphy, however, could not hide so easily.

“The great Jonathan Murphy!” one of the guards howled. A great, burly, wall of a man burst into laughter, clutching his stomach. The other guard with him - a slim, lanky boy who couldn’t be older than sixteen - chuckled along nervously. “Come to finally beg for a place at Your Majesty’s feet?”

Murphy’s a known sorcerer, infamous from his time in the Detainment Centers. His face is recognizable to just about anyone who cares to look. 

He  _ could _ , of course, wave his hand and have the guards fall dead on their feet and unlock the gate. He knows  _ exactly _ which spell to use, yet - 

he does nothing at all. 

“Yes,” he replies. The laughter abruptly stops.

“What did you just say?” the burly guard asks, half in shock and half in anger.

“Yes,” Murphy repeats. Emori glances at him, but does not interrupt. “That’s what I’m here for. I’d like to get my place at the feet, please.”

Silence, and then - “Oh! A comedian! You’ve got some nerve, then!”

“Well, you seemed to find me hilarious before.”

The guard’s expression turns stony. “Alright, wise-ass, turn around and move along. The royalty in there don’t have time for your antics.”

Emori’s already taking a step back, but Murphy holds his ground. “Actually, I think they’ll be  _ very _ interested in my antics.”

“Why, I oughta-”

“Particularly the part where my  _ antics _ could result in the death of their entire kingdom.”

This time, the silence stretches onwards, and onwards, and onwards, until - 

“Open the gate.”

The younger guard balks. “What? But I thought-”

“ _ Look _ ,” the other guard hisses, “He - Sorcerers, they - they don’t mess around with this kind of thing.”

It’s true - they don’t.

“I still don’t-”

It’s then that Emori raises her mutated hand and points it right at the chest of the skinny guard. “John may practice civility, but I will not hesitate to  _ end _ your life.”

There’s no threat here. Emori’s unarmed. Yet, the guard takes one look at her mutation and balks, stepping backwards into the corner of the gate. 

“You may enter, but I must accompany you to the palace entry,” the other guard says. All inflection on his tone is gone, replaced with a monotone, business-like demeanour. Murphy nods, gives Emori a quick smile of  _ thank-you _ , glares once at the skinny guard, and follows the other guard through the gates. 

There’s another guard at the entrance to a long hallway, who engages in a whispered conversation with the burly guard. After what seems to be a bit of prompting, this guard turns and enters a large room at the other end of the hallway. 

“There is a celebration dinner right now,” the guard from the gate says. “So the King and the Prince are preoccupied.”

“I only need to speak to the Prince.”

“The Prince  _ and _ the King will be coming to see you, or no one will at all.”

“Then I suppose I’ll wait here until the coronation ceremony.”

“That’s thirty days away.”

“Then I suppose I’ll wait here for thirty days.”

The guard raises his eyebrows, showing a hint of respect in his deep-set eyes. “Kid, you have nerve, I’ll give you that.”

At that moment, King Kane rounds the corner, closely followed by the Prince. As soon as the heir turns the corner and meets his eyes, he steps back in shock. Murphy, though - he’s a statue. 

There are thousands of things he wants to say. 

_ How’s your year been? You had a good time being Prince since you abandoned me? Since you abolished the Camps, why haven’t you come to see me? _

“So good to see you,” Murphy says, his eyes anything but light.

The King is unfazed, staring down at Murphy and Emori in distaste, but he dismisses the guard with a simple nod and a sigh. “You have seconds,” he says, “to tell me  _ why _ you have interrupted my ceremony.”

“Technically, it’s the Prince’s ceremony, isn’t it?”

If anything, the look of distaste in the King’s eyes grows. Bellamy remains decisively silent. “You are  _ quickly _ running out of seconds.”

Murphy swallows his sarcasm. “I require passage to Arkadia East.”

The rest of his  _ seconds _ are taken by the King laughing in his face. “ _ You _ , a sorcerer that I let live in this kingdom out of  _ compassion _ , wishes to travel to Arkadia East? Do you know what they do to your kind there?”

Emori gives him a worried glance, but Murphy soldiers on. “Yes, I am well aware,” he says. “The Camps were, after all, their idea.”

“What could you possibly need there, then? They would kill you on sight.”

Murphy’s not naive - he knows there is no way the King will grant him permission, and is only carrying on this conversation for his own amusement. The Prince, though - Bellamy could be swayed,  _ especially _ if Murphy is right about what he thinks he knows. “If I do not talk to someone who I know is in Arkadia East,” he says, “your entire kingdom is at risk.”

The King’s laughter dies in his throat. “Excuse me, sorcerer?” 

“I am cursed,” Murphy admits, ignoring Emori’s shocked look. “Each time I use magic, something that I care about disappears.”

“And this is my problem because-”

“ _ Because _ , one could say that I care quite a bit about your kingdom.”

Silence follows. Murphy can tell he hasn’t driven the point home well enough. 

“Arkadia East requires only lets those with royal permission to cross their border,” he says. “The sorceress who cursed me is in Arkadia East. I  _ need _ her to lift this curse, because there are not many things left in this world that could disappear - and your kingdom is one of them.”

 

**vi - bellamy;**

“-and your kingdom is one of them.”

Bellamy still hasn’t been able to speak. He doesn’t know how to. All he’s focused on is the memory of two years ago, when Kane took him and Octavia on a tour of the Camps, and there was a boy through the bars who stared at him and talked to him, whose name was John Murphy and who told him not all sorcerers had evil in their hearts - 

and here he is, now free as a bird, and Bellamy can’t collect himself.

“The answer here seems simple,” Kane says. “Refrain from using magic. That’s what you  _ should _ be doing, anyways.”

Murphy steps forwards now. Though the angry energy isn’t directed at him, Bellamy unconsciously takes a step back. 

“Sure, I could do that,” Murphy says, voice low. The girl with him has been inching away the whole conversation, obviously frightened of authority. He wonders what happened to her that installed that fear. 

_ Fool,  _ Bellamy thinks,  _ you already know what must have happened… _

“I  _ could _ do that,” Murphy repeats. “I could bide my time, only using magic when absolutely necessary or when I just...forget...and each time, little parts of life could keep popping out of existence until one of these days, everything you’ve worked so hard to build will just...disappear...leaving only Arkadia East as the reigning power. Do you want that? Do you  _ really _ want a nation that kills sorcerers on sight to reign?”

Silence.

Murphy continues, “If you cannot help, I understand. Perhaps you could send the Prince or the Princess in your place.”

“I could not-”

“Right, I’m sure they  _ both _ have valuable places at court. Where is Princess Octavia, anyways? Too caught up in her important courtly duties to attend this meeting?”

If Kane were any less dignified, he’d be fuming.

“I would not ask this of you if it were not life-or-death.”

It’s clear that Kane agrees. Bellamy knows him well enough to tell, but he doesn’t want to grant them this. “I sympathize with you,” he says, “but I cannot help you. Please, escort yourselves off the premises immediately.” With that, Kane turns and he is gone.

Bellamy waits only a second, waits only to see Murphy’s full attention placed on him, before he turns and follows.

“Is there no way we could help him?” Bellamy says, risking Kane’s wrath. There is no reply until they reach the doors to the ballroom where the ceremony is continuing inside. 

With a sigh, Kane turns around to face him, one hand on the door. “I will not send a sorcerer - a  _ known _ sorcerer - to Abigail’s kingdom.”

But that’s - that’s not good enough for Bellamy, and suddenly the thought of following Kane through that door is suffocating. “I - Then I will help him.”

“No,” Kane says, harshly. “You are not yet King. You will do no such thing.”

“I can write up the papers-”

“ _ No. _ Now follow me, we must finish the ceremony.”

The door has opened a crack, and through it Bellamy can just make out Octavia’s form, sitting at the end of the table dejectedly and - 

He turns around and walks out the front gates.


	3. i get my back into my living

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Murphy and Raven remember their pasts, while Bellamy and Clarke remain civil, as always.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A full-size chapter this time, to make up for the small filler one. Hope it's enjoyable! <3

**vii - murphy;**

“The Prince of Arkadia West - soon to be King, mind you - is going to  _ personally accompany _ a sorcerer across the border, to a land where it is still legal to kill sorcerers on sight?”

Murphy watches Bellamy swallow nervously. “Yes?” comes the hesitant reply. It’s as if Bellamy’s only now realizing what a stupid idea this is. Obviously, he’s only doing this to escape the duties of courtly life, and probably not out of any personal obligations to Murphy.

Not that Murphy particularly cares - he’s all for Bellamy accompanying him. Having royalty on his side will make his travel easier, and - 

well - 

it’s  _ Bellamy _ , so - 

“If you insist.”

Emori coughs quietly to his left, and he brings his eyes to meet hers. “John,” she says, “if the Prince is coming with you I’d...I’d like to return home.”

He’s known this was coming, too, but it still hurts.

“It’s okay, Emori. I understand.”

“It’s just - with my hand, the castle guards might assume I’m a sorceress and they have the right to kill me for that, even if it’s not true, and Echo is worried-”

“ _ Emori. _ It’s okay, really. Thank you for getting me this far.”

The relief on her face is palpable but she nods tenderly and clasps his forearm with her mutated hand - a sorcerer’s salute, done out of respect for him and - possibly - to intimidate Bellamy. 

With that, and a stiff bow directed at the Prince, she descends the road back the way they came. Murphy is careful to watch her leave and make sure she’s safe until she’s too far out of his sightline. He longs to cast a simple spell, a sight-enhancer, maybe, or -

best not to dwell on such things.

“So,” Bellamy finally says, too awkwardly to have come from the mouth of royalty, “you’re headed to see the Griffins, then?”

_ The Griffins. _ The slang, Arkadia West term for the reigning Queen and Princess of the East - thought to be cold, calculating, and unforgiving, choosing to keep a somewhat fascist monarchy over a tentative democracy.

The West isn’t much better than the East, but they can pretend it is for their own sake.

Murphy starts walking before he answers, making sure Bellamy will actually follow him. He does. It’s hard to hide the smile this invokes.

“I have to find a sorceress who is hiding in Arkadia East.”

Bellamy laughs, but he carries on. “I pity anyone practicing magic in the East.”

Grimly, Murphy nods. He knows too many acquaintances and - and friends who have fallen victim to the Queen’s tyrannical rule. “She has many ties there,” he finally says. “And if she  _ were _ in the West, I would know.”

“Would you?”

“I know the location of every known sorcerer in Arkadia, and  _ she _ is definitely known.”

“Can I ask who-”

“Raven Reyes.”

Bellamy carries on in silence before he skips a step in remembrance. “ _ Oh _ ,” he says. “Okay, yeah, she had a long list of infractions in the-”

He stops short.

Rolling his eyes in annoyance, Murphy sighs. “If we’re going to be travelling together, you can’t be afraid to talk about such things.”

“Murphy…”

“Just say it, Bellamy.”

“I…”

“You know Raven because she and I were in the same Camp until last year when you abolished them.”

Murphy didn’t realize that this would hit Bellamy quite as strongly as it did, but he can understand - as soon as the words hit the air, words that were so easy to say, he’s overcome with all the emotion he felt two years prior, making promises to Bellamy through the mesh of the Camp’s fence, Bellamy promising to free him and Murphy promising he’d stay with him, that it was real - 

Not that it matters.

A year ago, Bellamy abolished the Camps, and they never saw each other again.

_ Until now. _

 

**viii - bellamy;**

In silence, they walk along the trodden path towards the border until they reach a carriage station. Three drivers stand waiting idly by three carriages, each one of them bored and disinterested. 

“You got money with you?” Murphy asks, the first words he’s spoken to Bellamy since their earlier conversation.

Sheepishly, Bellamy checks his pockets and shakes his head. “Sorry.”

“You didn’t take anything with you? This isn’t going to be a quick trip.”

He knows this, of course, and he knew it when he left but at the time, all he could think was he wanted  _ out _ of the castle and  _ out _ of the region and  _ out _ of his life, his stupid, royal, over-exaggerated life he doesn’t even deserve - 

“Well, nevermind that, then,” Murphy says, sighing. “You’ll just have to charm one of them into giving us a free ride.”

“I - What?”

“You’re the Prince, and you’re...well...not hideous, so.”

Bellamy can’t stop the idiotic grin appearing on his face. “How nice of you to say!”

“Oh, shut up. Just go and get us a ride. I’d do it, but you know, your whole kingdom might disappear.”

Hesitantly, without the confidence a Prince should have, he approaches the most bored-looking carriage driver, a younger man, maybe in his twenties. “Ah, hi there!”

The driver doesn’t look at him. 

“Um...nice weather we’re having today?”

At this, the driver looks up. Immediately, his brown eyes go wide. “Prince Bellamy!” he exclaims, launching himself into a bow. 

“Please, please, don’t,” Bellamy sighs. “I’m just looking for a ride for me and my friend here, to the border of Arkadia East.” He turns around the gesture at Murphy, but the sorcerer has turned away, hiding his face from the driver.

“Of course,” the driver immediately says, gesturing for them to enter a carriage parked in the lot. “Wherever you need to go.”

“Thank you kindly,” Bellamy says, before returning to Murphy. He practically has to drag him into the back of the carriage with him, pulling the divider down so they can speak in private. 

Still, Murphy doesn’t talk until they can feel the carriage moving along the road. “What was that about? The driver was nice!”

“Nice to you, because you’re royalty,” Murphy scoffs, withdrawing the scarf he’d pulled around his face in security. “Those who are  _ too _ nice to royalty often hate sorcerers.”

“He wouldn’t know you’re a sorcerer, would he?”

Murphy’s eyes are completely serious, holding none of the jovial humour they always did. “Before the Camps,  _ everyone _ knew who I was, Bellamy.”

_ I wish I had, _ he thinks, but he can never say that, for the truth is this - 

The only reason Bellamy found the courage and strength to go against the wishes of Kane, the man who adopted him and brought him into a life full of riches and luxury and raised him as his own, was because he fell in love with a sorcerer behind bars. The only reason Bellamy began to work so hard to dismantle the Camps, the only reason he took notice of the atrocities committed inside the fences was because he caught sight of Jonathan Murphy.

Without that, without his juvenile attraction, he may never have clued in to his situation. He may never have thought he had the power to save all the innocent sorcerers trapped, only put there because they were different, because they could do things regular civilians didn’t understand.

He’ll never forgive himself.

 

**ix - clarke;**

She’s still laying on her bed, body intertwined with Raven when a harsh knock sounds on her door. “Clarke.” 

_ “Shit,” _ Clarke whispers. “It’s my mother. Can you-”

Grimly, Raven nods, using all her strength to haul herself up and hobble to Clarke’s closet. Much bigger than the armoire, it will at least allow her to sit comfortably without the use of magic. 

“Coming, mother,” Clarke calls politely. With a quick smile, she closes the closet door and opens the main one. 

“There is a disturbance at the palace gates,” her mother says immediately, perfectly poised, taking up the entire doorway. “I have a crucial meeting to attend with Thelonius Jaha. I would like you to attend to this disturbance.”

Clarke’s completely taken aback, but she tries not to let it show. “Of course, mother. I’ll go there right away.”

“Thank you.” Without another word, the Queen turns around in a perfect semicircle and departs down the hallway. Careful to close her door, Clarke quickly descends the staircase and heads towards the gates, eager to return to Raven.

It isn’t fair, but she can’t change that - not yet.

‘Disturbances’ at the palace gates were commonplace, especially since the palace was mere minutes away from the border to Arkadia West.  _ An intimidation tactic _ , her mother calls it, but Clarke’s pretty sure it only causes a lot of so-called disturbances. 

She’s expecting it to be an unruly commoner, or a devoted noble, but when she reaches the gates the sight is almost too much for her. Two men stand at the gates, surrounded by guards with their weapons drawn. One of them is the easily recognizable Prince, Bellamy, but the other - she thinks she knows him from somewhere, but she can’t be sure - 

“Princess!” one of the guards called out when she’s in sight. “These two are requesting the presence of royalty.”

“Well, the Prince of Arkadia West is always welcome,” Clarke says, evenly, tone open to diplomacy. Despite what the Queen says, she does not believe the West to be  _ that _ barbaric. To the guards, then, she calls, “Stand down!”

Half of the guards do, but some remain ready to strike. “The Prince brings a sorcerer to our gates.”

It’s then that Clarke looks at the Prince’s companion. The man is a bit smaller, and a bit younger looking, but his face is towards the ground and his hands are clasped behind his back. He’s got the poise of a man who is trying to appear docile, but in reality, is anything but. 

Obviously, he is a man with something to hide.

“Prince Bellamy!” Clarke calls, still wary of getting any closer. “Do you bring a sorcerer to Arkadia East? To the palace, no less?”

The Prince looks her straight on, jaw squared off and gaze determined. “I would never do such a thing.” 

_ If he’s such a good liar, perhaps the West is more intelligent than we give them credit for, _ she thinks. 

Perhaps.

“Then you heard it from the Prince himself,” she says. “Any of you who do not stand down are accusing him of being a liar. Would you like to accuse a visiting Prince of being a liar?”

Hesitantly and slowly, the guards stand down. The Prince leads the other man -  _ a sorcerer _ \- up the path, where Clarke allows them to follow her into the palace and then into an adjacent meeting room, composed only of a table and four chairs.

“Now then,” she says, neatly folding her hands. “Why don’t you tell me what, exactly, you’re doing here, before I call my mother and have her execute your sorcerer friend right here, right now.”

 

**x - raven;**

Raven’s never been good at staying out of trouble. It’s probably why she decided this moment was a good one for her to start astrally projecting herself.

It’s an easy type of magic for her to master - simply imagine your consciousness as being somewhere else, and it was done. Of course, it was limited. She was invisible to all, unable to communicate, it tired her considerably, could only be done for so long, and of course, she could only travel places she had physically been. 

She had, however, been all over the palace. Whenever Clarke was called away and she was forced to hide, this was how Raven passed the time.

Of course, it has nothing to do with the  _ very _ dark closet and Raven’s issues with the dark after the Camps and what they did to her. Not that Raven had issues - not that anyone had  _ done _ anything to her - not that she  _ wasn’t okay. _

Normally she followed the Queen and other high nobleman, desperate to find out more about changing laws and the upcoming marriage - any weaknesses she learned she could try to exploit. This time, though, worried for her safety, she follows Clarke’s path.

Astral projection is slow. This means she arrives at the palace entrance to see Clarke leading two men into a small conference room. One of them is Prince Bellamy of Arkadia West, a sight she wasn’t opposed to; after all, technically he is to thank for her freedom, what little of it she still has.

The other man, though - when she sees him, she screams.

She almost jumps back in her body. She almost runs to the conference room and curses him with everything she has, she almost forgoes magic and grabs a weapon so she can  _ feel _ his death - 

She’ll never forget what Jonathan Murphy looks like. How can she forget the face of the man who crippled her and ruined her life?

Involuntarily, she thinks back to a year ago, when -

* * * * * * 

_ “You don’t know anything about me, John Murphy!” she’d screamed, finally allowed back in the daylight after weeks of torture. Raven was tired. Her limbs were heavy, her resolve weak. They’d finally gotten to her and she’d never forgive herself for it. _

_ “Oh, that’s rich of you to say!” Murphy hurled back. He’d been one of the first taken for individual torture; she had no idea what they’d done to him, but he wasn’t the same as he’d been when they’d first met, not by a long shot. _

_ “Both of you, calm down.” That’s Mbege, off to the side somewhere, the one thing in the world Murphy admits he loves. _

_ “I’ll show you-” _

_ And she had, hurling curse after curse at him. She landed the first hit, square in his chest. At first, nothing happened. She wasn’t sure which one had hit him - she’d been trying everything in her book -  _

_ While she’s distracted, he lands a hit of his own. Immediately, her leg gives out, her body full of excruciating pain. She screams and screams and screams and the guards do nothing because they enjoy the fact she’s screaming and can’t stand and why isn’t it healing she’s -  _

_ It takes her a while to realize Murphy is screaming, too, because he used magic and Mbege promptly disappeared. It’s then Raven remembers; he’s forever cursed to have something he loves disappear whenever a spell is cast, and somehow she knows her leg will never heal. _

_ Together, they scream… _

* * * * * *

Raven clasps a hand over her mouth to stop herself from screaming. She kneels down, hides herself, breathes until she knows where she is and remembers that was in the past, that’s over and done with, and she’s an astral projection, anyways, so she can scream all she wants. 

She does, and then, she follows Clarke into the room.

They’re all seated at the small table. Raven slides herself into the empty chair. Murphy, the only one capable of noticing her presence, doesn’t - or, he doesn’t give any indication he does. 

_ Not that he can perform magic to check, anyways… _

She feels guilty about it, until her leg hurts again and she doesn’t.

“I think Murphy can explain better than I can,” the Prince is saying as Raven sits down. 

Clarke sits back, now in awareness. “Jonathan Murphy,” she says, slowly, knowing full well who he is because of Raven’s stories. “It’s brave of you to come here.”

Murphy nods carefully, eyes full of calculation. “Thank you for meeting with us, Princess,” he says. “I will keep this simple. I am seeking the whereabouts of someone I believe to be in Arkadia East.”

“The population of Arkadia East is very high.”

“It is vital I find this person, for the safety of everyone in the kingdom. Any information you have would be crucial.”

Clarke nods, straightening her back. “Alright,” she says. “Who is it that you seek?”

“A sorceress, by the name of Raven Reyes.”

_ She screams. _

Somehow, Clarke keeps the surprise out of her eyes. “I don’t believe I know this name.”

Bellamy jumps in, now, appealing to her on a royal level. “I’m sure you were well aware of the Camps, and what went on in them,” he says. “Reyes had the highest number of infractions in Camp Three, situated here in the East.”

Clarke bites her tongue, swallows, then nods. “Yes,” she says. “I recall. But I am sorry - I do not know of her whereabouts.”

“Are you sure? It’s very-”

Clarke stands, pushing her chair back with an audible squeak, intending to cut Bellamy off. “Any sorcerer caught in Arkadia East is killed on sight,” she says, raising her voice. “This  _ Reyes _ would truly be foolish to be here. I am sorry we cannot be more help.”

Murphy nods, keeping his eyes on Clarke. He’s not fooled - it’s clear he can tell Clarke’s hiding something, but maybe he doesn’t know just what that something is. Bellamy, however, believes her completely. “I hate to impose, but it is getting late. Is there somewhere close by we can stay for the night?”

Clarke sighs. “Yes. You both may stay in the palace tonight - but you must leave as soon as morning strikes.”

“Of course. Thank you for your hospitality, Princess.” Bellamy bows, the sign of respect in the East. Clarke, trained to be just as diplomatic, clasps her hands together over her heart, the sign of respect in the West.

Neither of them look pleased or convinced to be partaking in these symbols, but they have both been reared this way, and neither of them know how to live differently.

Clarke leads them through the castle to a guest room. Raven glides along behind her, relief finally allowing air to fill her lungs. She trusts Clarke completely, but still - she can never be too careful.

“If you are sure Reyes is not in the West,” Clarke says, “Perhaps you could try the South. We all know the only populice down there are heathenly.”

Bellamy laughs cordially, but without meaning. “Perhaps we shall. Thank you again, Princess.” Yet again, he bows.

With a nod and another clasp of her hands, she closes the door and leaves.

Raven closes her eyes, concentrates, and feels the familiarity of being back in her physical body just as Clarke opens the closet door. With ease, she helps her up and they find a place back together on the bed. 

“I’m assuming you heard all that, then?”

“Yes. I did.”

Silence, then - 

“I’ll never let them find you. You know that, right?”

_ I don’t. _

“Yes, Clarke. I know. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

_ That’s what I’m scared of. _   



	4. i don't need to fight to prove i'm right

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Murphy and Bellamy have a talk, and then everything falls apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was a hard one to write, so...I'm hoping it's okay. next chapter is going to be strictly prequel, so y'all can figure out this silly world i've built. after that? even i don't know.

**xi - murphy;**

The small guest room is equipped with two beds, fortunately, so there’s no comical ‘who-sleeps-on-the-floor’ moment. Murphy knows Bellamy would be asleep on the floor in seconds, should that have been the case, anyways. 

Prince Bellamy...so selfless that Murphy’s sure a stint as King would near destroy him. He’s too pure to be royalty.

This is how they find themselves, laid out on two beds only inches apart, staring at a ceiling that’s both too high and too low. Claustrophobia begins to set in the longer Murphy stares at it. Ever since the Camps, since they plucked him from a lineup and threw him in a dark cage only large enough to sit in he doesn’t - he doesn’t  _ do _ so well with tight spaces.

But he doesn’t want to burden Bellamy with more problems, not when he’s already got so much to think about.

It’s minutes, hours later when - “Murphy.”

He answers only with a sigh. “What is it?”

“Do you think Clarke is telling the truth? That she really doesn’t know anything about Raven?”

Murphy scoffs, always baffled at how trusting the Prince could be. “Oh, she’s  _ definitely _ lying. But we don’t have the power in this situation - I can’t cast a truth spell on her. Even if I did, she’d call the guards to kill me instantly.”

“What if we-”

“This is Arkadia East, Bellamy. They have all the advantages.”

Bellamy thinks for a couple seconds. “Where do you think Raven is, then?”

It’s a risky theory he’s got in his mind, but he always knew Raven had a secret crush on the East Princess. “I think she might be in the castle - working for the Griffins, maybe.”

“Sorcerers are  _ against the law _ , though. Would they really let one be in the castle?”

“Raven might be helping them,” he says, though it pains him to think that if that were true, he had a hand in driving Raven to such a dark place. 

Silence resumes between the pair. Murphy’s eyes begin to slip shut. He’s almost asleep when - 

“I never stopped caring about you.” The room is so dark that Murphy can’t check Bellamy’s eyes for genuinity -  _ maybe that’s why he’s doing this now _ \- yet, he believes him because - 

“That’s good, because I never stopped caring about you, either.” 

Bellamy chuckles. “Bold thing to say for a sorcerer cursed with-”

“Don’t.”

“Right. Sorry.”

The moment’s ruined, but Bellamy persists. “I just - I don’t know how to say this, Murphy, why do you have to make this so difficult?”

“Well, sorry about that, then.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Maybe because you’re royalty, and I’m a sorcerer?”

“The Camps, though - you say you meant what you said then. Why didn’t you come find me earlier?”

_ He’d never understand. _

“I’m here, now. That’s all I can say, okay?”

The silence resumes for a moment, before Murphy hears Bellamy shuffle and get out of bed to stand next to Murphy’s. “Yes?” he says curiously, turning his head to take in Bellamy’s silhouette, only a shadowy figure in the darkness. 

Then Bellamy’s lips are on his and they’re kissing, and it feels just like it did two years ago except this time there are no cages and no fences and he’s free, free, free…

_ You’re perfect, perfect, perfect… _

“What does this mean?” Bellamy asks, as soon as he’s broken away.

“You’re the Prince,” Murphy says, reaching out and finding the fabric of Bellamy’s shirt in his fist. “You tell me.” Then he’s pulling, and Bellamy’s next to him again and everything’s fine.

They’ll be next to each other for hours or so. Murphy’s pretending to be asleep when he feels Bellamy quietly stir, stand, and leave the room, and Murphy’s just the kind of person that he’s going to follow him.

 

**xii - bellamy;**

He’s got the throne. He’s got his love. He’s got happiness. So why does he feel so  _ off _ ?

Murphy’s words replay in Bellamy’s mind as he stares at the ceiling, wide awake, the sorcerer’s soft sleeping breaths next to him. The more he thinks about their interaction, the more sure he is that Clarke is lying. And if Raven really  _ is _ in the castle and he leaves without even trying to find her? He’ll never forgive himself.

He already can’t, so.

Quietly, as not to wake Murphy, he shifts until he’s standing. Before he leaves, he pauses at the door and glances back. Now that his eyes have well-adjusted to the dark, he takes in Murphy’s sleeping face with warmth in his heart. He looks soft, peaceful, young - he looks different. 

He looks like he probably did before the Camps, but Bellamy will never know that for sure. 

For Murphy, he opens the door, closes it silently behind him, and begins wandering the castle.

It doesn’t take him long to find Clarke’s room - despite the halls being deserted, he remembers them well from his childhood. Before, when the Arkadias were better connected, before the North split and the South became a wasteland, before the Queen enacted her harsh regime, before sorcerers were feared, Bellamy would come here often to see Clarke. They’d run through the castle for fun, laughing along the way, all while their parents had diplomatic meeting after diplomatic meeting.

If he could, if he had the power to, Bellamy would start running through the halls and he’d yell,  _ oh how he’d yell _ , finally, with the weight of the throne and his lineage and royalty off his shoulders, even though it was only for another day or so - 

Octavia could have the throne. Octavia  _ should _ have the throne - 

but no. It was much too late to be thinking these things.

He finds Clarke’s room and hesitantly he knocks, softly, to wake only her and not the rest of the castle. Bellamy figures maybe she’ll actually talk to him, once he’s able to explain their situation without all the diplomatic bull getting in the way. 

Maybe she won’t talk to a sorcerer. Maybe her mother’s twisted ways have infected Clarke, too - but he has to hope that she hasn’t yet forgotten her childhood.

Nobody answers his knock, so he tries again. Putting an ear to the door, he can hear slight movement inside the room, and he thinks he hears Clarke’s voice - as well as another feminine one. 

_ What if… _

He can’t stop himself. He opens the door and walks into the room.

He’s definitely not expecting to see Clarke on the bed with another woman practically on top of her, both of them scarcely clothed, lips locked.

“Oh,” he says, and that finally gets their attention.

The woman Bellamy doesn’t recognize stands in a hurry, wrapping a blanket around herself. She stumbles away, fear in her eyes, waving a hand. Without him doing anything, the door slams behind him. 

The wild, fearful look in her eyes confirms her identity. Bellamy walked into Clarke Griffin, Princess of Arkadia East, being intimate with  _ Raven Reyes. _

“Bellamy!” Clarke hisses, sitting up and wrapping a blanket around herself as well. “What do you think you’re  _ doing _ ?!”

“He’s going to report me,” Raven says, swallowing nervously, then regaining some of her confidence. “I - I’ve got to - a memory wipe spell. I’ll just do that.”

“Wait, Raven, do you know how to do one of those?” Clarke asks softly.

“Not exactly, but I’m sure I can figure it out.”

“We can’t risk hurting him. He’s the  _ Prince _ .”

“Yes! I know that! Which is why  _ he’s going to report me! _ ”

Slowly, Bellamy raises his hands into the air. “I’m not going to report you, or hurt you, or anything like that.”

Raven’s eyes narrow. “Forgive me,  _ Prince _ , if I don’t believe you.”

Nervously, Bellamy glances between Clarke and Raven a few times before speaking again. “I’m sure you know why I’m here.”

“Yeah!” Raven says, “You brought John Murphy here!”

“Yes, he did.”

Bellamy whirls around, hands still in the air, surprise on his face - because Murphy’s entered the room while he was talking, closing the door behind him once more.

_ “You-” _

“Raven, wait-”

She doesn’t wait.

 

**xiii - clarke;**

Everything changes in a span of only a few seconds, but what happens is this:

Raven, charged with fury, casts some kind of curse in Bellamy’s direction. The spell, lit with angry red energy, launches towards the Prince. He’s far too overwhelmed to know how to react to a sorceress’ magic, so he just stands there, mouth still open in surprise.

Murphy, upon seeing this, reacts on instinct and conjures up a defensive barrier, which he places directly in front of Bellamy. This shield, radiating a calming blue, absorbs the shock of the red spell and Bellamy is fine.

Except Murphy is cursed.

The same instant the barrier does its job, Clarke sees Bellamy narrow his eyes, maybe in confusion, maybe in pain, but she can’t ask him because the next second he blinks out of existence.

Murphy cast a spell, and his curse made Bellamy disappear.

She clamps a hand over her mouth to silence her scream. It barely works.

Murphy doesn’t realize what’s happened for a few seconds, but when he does, he staggers backwards, distraught. “No,” he whispers, back hitting the wall, knees shaking. “No, I - no. Make him come back.”

“Raven,” Clarke says softly, eyes trained on the spot Bellamy once took up. “That’s the  _ Prince of Arkadia West. _ You have to make him come back.”

“I - I can’t.”

“Make him come back, Raven.” That’s Murphy, voice steadily growing stronger in rage. His eyes are alight with anger and tears. 

“I can’t!”

“Make him come back  _ now _ !”

Murphy hisses and without much thought and with too much emotion he collapses to his knees, howling softly. A blue energy begins to form around him, encircling the sorcerer. 

“Murphy, no,” Raven says. “I’m sorry, I - I can’t make him come back, I’m  _ sorry _ !”

“John,” Clarke tries, but he’s not hearing either of them. Just like Clarke, he can’t look away from where Bellamy’s shadow should be. 

The circle begins to grow, pulsing in power, and then - 

Raven mutters something under her breath, throwing a spell his direction. Murphy’s too caught up in the moment to realize and he allows it to catch him. Instantly, the blue energy vanishes and his eyes roll into his head, his muscles lose tension and he’s falling further then he already has, head hitting the ground on his way down. 

 

**xiv - raven;**

“ _ Raven! _ ” Clarke says in anguish. “What did you do?” The Princess hasn’t moved from her spot on the bed. Most likely, she hasn’t been able to. 

“He’s fine,” Raven says. Her bottom lip is quivering but she’s trying to stay composed, more for herself than for Clarke. “It’s just a sleeping spell. We have maybe twelve hours before he wakes up?”

Clarke lets out a long breath and shuts her eyes for a few seconds, regaining regal posture when she opens them. “Okay,” she says, eyes drifting over to Murphy’s sleeping form. His eyebrows are knitted, his jaw clenched, hands in fists at his sides. Even though he’s in rest, he looks anything but peaceful.

“We have to get Bellamy back, somehow. The whole coalition will fall apart without his coronation.”

“Right,” Raven agrees. “I...all of Murphy’s things, everything that’s disappeared...they’ve got to be going somewhere. Nobody is powerful enough to make things just...vanish.”

“Where did you send all of it?”

She looks down at the ground, shame tarnishing her features. “I don’t remember.”

“What do you mean?”

“I was just throwing curses at him, I don’t - I’m not even sure which  _ version _ of this one has stuck.”

Clarke bites the inside of her cheek, nodding. “Well, what are our possibilities?”

“Either...Arkadia North or Arkadia South.”

Clarke lets out another long, long breath, and yeah - Raven can’t blame her. She already knew they were screwed.

“So Prince Bellamy is trapped either in a medieval nation cut off from us or a radiated wasteland?”

“Yeah,” Raven says. “That’s...That’s pretty much it.”

She looks at Murphy, pity in her heart, pain in her leg and she can’t even remember what they were fighting about, all that time ago. 

“I’ll fix this,” she says, to Murphy, to Clarke, to herself. “I’ll fix this, but we’ll have to wait for Murphy to wake up so he can help us, and - we have to get him somewhere that he won’t hurt anyone innocent.”

Clarke nods in agreement, finally standing. Together, they get dressed, and then they clean the room to look perfectly untouched. After that’s done, they’ll worry about where to go from here - 

if, of course, there’s anywhere they can even go.


	5. don't cry, don't raise your eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A prequel, if you will, explaining the past and history of Arkadia - more specifically, John Murphy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY I KNOW this is a bit of a weird chapter, but i kind of thought it was needed? after this you have a full knowledge on the history of all these characters and this world i've built, so we're on the same page lol. after all, there aren't too many more chapters? so enjoy this funky fresh change of pace and hopefully it ties you over till i write the next part.
> 
> if the italics are annoying just lemme know and i'll change it.

**xv - murphy;**

Murphy’s dreams these days are solely of the past, of how he got to this irreversible state of decline. 

This is how it happened.

**_then;_ **

_ For as long as any history book can say, Arkadia had always been divided into the East and the West. Both nations ruled alongside each other; each had a royal family spanning back decades. The Blakes oversaw the West and stepped away from the throne, relying on a people’s democracy to guide the way. In the East, the Griffins chose a more hands-on approach, picking and appointing the path of all their citizens. _

_ Sorcerers, as well, have always been a part of Arkadia. No one is quite sure on their beginnings, and no one is quite sure how one is born a sorcerer, but some are born into this world with the gift of magic and some are not. Often acting as advisors to the royal families, sorcerers were peaceful and, ultimately, respected. _

_ Despite their differences, the two nations grew equally strong, until a group of unruly commoners rose up and attacked both royal families. Tired of the old ways, these rebels tried to start a Civil War, but with the help of all Arkadia’s sorcerers their efforts were quickly squashed. Banished to the icy tundra, these rebels battled impossible odds and formed their own city with their own rules and even their own language. Known as  _ **_Azgeda_ ** _ , the Ice Nation, with much diplomacy this nation later became Arkadia North. _

_ It was then that the attitude towards sorcerers began to change. _

_ Having shown off their talents in front of an audience, magic-less commoners began to fear the strengths of the sorcerers. If they were faced in battle, it was evident that the sorcerers could quickly defeat any army. What, then, was stopping these  _ heathens _ from slaughtering the royal families and overthrowing the peaceful, structured systems of government in the East and the West? _

_ (No one much cared if the North was overthrown, or if it was simply lost to the wind of time…) _

_ Secretly, the Griffins began to test weapons more powerful than any before. Nuclear at their core, they were deployed on the sole penal colony of Arkadia. This area was quickly decimated, and all prisoners were vaporized. The whole area, now a wasteland without vegetation, became known as Arkadia South. Before, to be sent there was a punishment for a simple crime. Now, it was a death sentence.  _

_ And this is how it was when John Murphy was born. The West distrusted the East for developing nuclear weapons in secrecy, while the East looked down on the West for being soft. Cut off from easy communication, the North was judged and scoffed by all. And sorcerers? Very quickly, they were becoming enemy number one. _

_ Murphy was ten when his father, a sorcerer like himself, was killed by an angry crowd. He was twelve when his mother killed herself out of sorrow. And he was sixteen when a soldier and a sorcerer knocked on his door.  _

_ Before he could speak, the sorcerer threw an incantation. A tattoo was burned onto Murphy’s wrist. While this sigil was on his skin, he was prevented from casting magic at anyone who wasn’t a sorcerer.  _

_ And to cast at a fellow sorcerer was - well -  _ unacceptable.

_ The soldier threw a pair of metal cuffs on Murphy’s wrists and then he was being herded out the door, then pushed into the back of a massive truck filled to the brim with sorcerers. They all now carried an identical sigil, burned into their skin by sorcerers completely devoted to the royal family. Looking around the truck, seeing all these faces - Murphy figured the government finally had enough of the sorcerer threat.  _

_ He figured they were being sent to their deaths.  _

_ It was here that he met Emori, seated next to him on the truck. Her hand, mutated irreparably, was impossible to miss. “Let me guess,” he said dryly, “a spell went wrong and did that to your hand?” _

_ She shot him a dirty look, but answered anyways. Perhaps she was so used to the mutation being ignored that someone addressing it forced her to open up. “No,” she said, “I was born in close proximity to the South. It’s always been this way.” _

_ The truck roughly jostles them as it moves over a bump in the road. “You don’t even have magic, do you? Everyone just...assumes you do?” _

_ “Exactly.” _

_ “You really drew the short straw, huh?” _

_ Her expression moves from annoyed to something that almost resembled amusement. “You don’t even know the half of it.” _

_ * * * * * *  _

_ They made stops along the way where the truck picked up a few more sorcerers, each of them with a sigil. Finally, they rolled to a stop outside the largest cage Murphy had ever seen. _

_ Chain fences formed the outline of the enclosure, topped with barb wire that sparkled with magical electricity. Inside, Murphy could see several buildings, each one nearly identical on the outside - plain, wooden doors, no windows.  _

_ “They’re not going to kill us,” he realized with a whisper. A giant sign above the only gate in the fence read “ _ **_Camp Three_ ** **.** _ ” _

_ They were going to be in a zoo. _

_ * * * * * * _

_ It was explained to them, later, that they were going to be kept here indefinitely while the governments worked on a more “permanent” solution to the sorcerer “problem.” Murphy couldn’t be sure, but these Camps seemed pretty permanent.  _

_ Magic was unusable inside. Each time he tried to light his hand on fire and burn the place down, the sigil burned deeper into his skin and the magic fizzled out. He could only cast if the intention was towards another sorcerer and he would  _ never.

_ No, each day they would have to work tirelessly, either on a farm or a small cavern, harvesting crops or mining minerals that all went outside the walls. Guards practically lined the walls, staring at them at all moments.  _

_ “This is for your own safety,” they had told them, and while that might be true, Murphy would rather face angry mobs like the one that had killed his father than... _ this.

_ * * * * * *  _

_ Later, on the third day, he finally saw Mbege.  _

_ His old childhood friend, the only person he really, truly trusted in this world...a few years back, his family had relocated to a more desolate area of Arkadia, hoping to avoid the unrest of the magic-less. He had left Murphy alone. _

_ Alone, until now. _

_ When their eyes met across the room, Murphy couldn’t help himself. With a small cry, he ran forwards and wrapped Mbege in a tight hug, gripping the fabric of the other boy’s shirt in his grimy hands.  _

_ “Hey!” one of the guards called. “No touching! Separate!” _

_ But they, they were out of time… _

_ “Separate,  _ now _!” _

_ One of Murphy’s bunkmates and someone he’d come to know over the past few days as somewhat of a friend, Raven Reyes, tapped his arm. “Do what they say!” she hissed, but no -  _

_ The guard had enough at that point. Murphy let go of Mbege only when he heard the guard stalking over, and he thought that would be enough, maybe he’d get a slight reprimand but no -  _

_ The guard lifted a rod in his hand and slammed it into his knee, instantly causing his leg to buckle. Mbege cried out and stepped back as Murphy stayed on the ground. His knee was definitely broken.  _

_ He screamed as the guard brought the rod down again. Raven was trying her best to get him to stop, and he was grateful, he was, but he couldn’t think past the haze of it all.  _

_ Murphy was aware that he was being dragged somewhere, but he let his eyes close before he figured the rest out. _

_ * * * * * * _

_ He awoke to darkness. _

_ His body still ached all over, but less so than before. He was flat on his back, staring up at a high ceiling, lying on a dirty wooden floor. As far as he could see, there was nothing else in the room, except the bit of light that was coming through a crack in the door.  _

_ A guard - different from the one that attacked him - stepped into the room only a little later. “You’re awake,” he commented gruffly. “I hear you instigated a riot?” _

_ That seems wrong and far from the truth, but he’s not in the right place to argue. “Where am I?” he settles on, but cringes as the predictability.  _

_ “Isolation,” the guard says. “See you in a few days, if I remember.” _

_ The guard leaves, and closes the door fully behind him. As it clicks shut and locks, all light is burned from the room and Murphy is left in complete, utter darkness.  _

_ There is no sight, no scent, no taste. There is only the feeling of grains of dirt between his fingers and the sound it makes as it falls back to the floor.  _

_ He moves around the room when he can - his injuries, they’ve been healed by someone, somewhere - but he loses track of where in the room he is, and how long it’s been, and how much longer he can make it. _

_ When a week passes and the guard finally returns, he is sitting in the middle of the room, staring blankly at the floor. He does not move for another day - he doesn’t realize that he’s out of the room. _

_ “What did they do to you?” Mbege whispers, late one night. It’s just Murphy on his assigned bunk, with Mbege, Raven, and Emori. _

_ He can’t answer. He hates that this is all it took to break him.  _

_ “Are they - Are they going to do that to us?” Emori says quietly, and she’s right. They will. They all will. _

_ * * * * * *  _

_ Shortly after, Bellamy Blake starts touring the Camps. _

_ Murphy figures several months must have gone by, because he doesn’t remember the younger Blake doing any tours, or press events, before he was imprisoned. If he’s doing these, then a coronation must be only a couple years in the making.  _

_ He’s in the fields that day, bending down in the hot sun to plant seeds for someone else’s meal, when Blake passes. As he’s been trained to do, Murphy doesn’t look up, but he imagines the Prince stands tall against the summer sun.  _

_ “Now, for their safety, we cannot let you inside the walls,” one of the guards is saying as they pass Murphy’s row of crops.  _

_ “For their safety, or my own?” the Prince says, somewhat calmly but somewhat in wonder.  _

_ “Exactly, Your Grace. Anyways - as you can see, they are productive members of society…” _

_ Blah, blah, blah.  _

_ Murphy risks a glance at the Prince when his touring party has passed earshot, and he was right - the sun is no match against him. _

_ * * * * * *  _

_ Raven is unruly. Raven is outspoken. Raven does not bend to the rules.  _

_ It is because of this that she is repeatedly punished. After her worst work infraction, they take her to Isolation for longer than anyone has ever been before. _

_ It’s really no surprise that when she returns, she mistakes Murphy’s empathy for condescension, and fires off a spell at him. The thought of doing magic freely is almost causes him to salivate - he misses it. It’s like an appendage of him that he hasn’t been able to stretch out in a year. He’s going crazy not using it.  _

_ So in the heat of the moment, she flexes her unused muscle and throws a curse his way, and he uses magic to deflect it, and so it goes.  _

_ He’s already had enough nightmares about what he did to her, what he’s done to her. Raven was by his side through thick and thin in the Camps, and he ruined her life, and she ruined his because -  _

_ It’s been over a year since Mbege disappeared, and who knows where he’s been all this time. _

_ * * * * * *  _

_ When Bellamy next returns, Murphy is at the peak of his grief. He’s not himself. He can’t keep track of linear time, of where he is, of what’s going on or where he’s been or what he’s doing or what is going on -  _

_ all he knows is Bellamy’s lips, they are soft.  _

_ * * * * * *  _

_ There are no feelings attached to this. Murphy, he feels like he’s back in the Isolation room, all dark with nothing to feed his senses except for Bellamy’s heart, a grain of dirt between his fingers -  _

_ he’s not a good person. _

_ And yeah, Bellamy will work together with the governments of all the nations and the Camps will be torn down and Murphy will go home, step inside his house, fall to his knees and cry.  _

_ He will cry because, back on that third day, Mbege used magic to heal his knee and Raven did all she could to beg for his freedom, so much so that a riot ensued, but now he’s cursed her with a permanent wound and Mbege isn’t even around to try and heal it. _

_ And he’ll cry, because Bellamy, he’s locked up in a tower somewhere and his parents are dead and Emori won’t need him for very much longer and -  _

_ And that’s all there is.  _

_ What else is there to dream of? _

**Author's Note:**

> let me know what you think!  
> twitter/tumblr - @murphysarc


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